


day by day by day we're falling down; but life goes on

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bellamy can't resists making inspirational speeches even during sex, Eating Disorder, Insecure Murphy, M/M, Mild Starvation/Anorexia, Mirror Sex, Orgasm Delay, Self Confidence Issues, Self Loathing, everyone is poly, mentions of becho, reacharound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: It's always in the dark. Lights off, little foreplay, usually after some fight or another. At first it doesn't bother Bellamy. Why should it? Most interactions with Murphy these days are fights, and sex has never been a huge issue for him. He's good at it and enjoys it, and clearly so does Murphy. Or at least, Bellamy thought he did.But time goes on, and Bellamy finds himself manhandling Murphy more and more, and it feels like something else is going on, other than them finding a release for their frustrations with each other. It's something in the way Murphy always manages to swing it so he's facing away from Bellamy, or maybe it's his near abusive dirty talk that seems to be trying to goad Bellamy to be more than merely rough with him. Or the way he always kicks Bellamy out immediately, the way he rebuffs any and all approaches that don't start with aggression.Mostly, in the end, it's the way he always turns the lights out, and how the mirror in his room is covered.





	day by day by day we're falling down; but life goes on

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sesKiKYQn84)
> 
> I am sucker for self destructive Murphy guys, so today's prompt of **Mirror Sex** had to include that, obviously.

It's always in the dark. Lights off, little foreplay, usually after some fight or another. At first it doesn't bother Bellamy. Why should it? Most interactions with Murphy these days are fights, and sex has never been a huge issue for him. He's good at it and enjoys it, and clearly so does Murphy. Or at least, Bellamy thought he did.

But time goes on, and Bellamy finds himself manhandling Murphy more and more, and it feels like something else is going on, other than them finding a release for their frustrations with each other. It's something in the way Murphy always manages to swing it so he's facing away from Bellamy, or maybe it's his near abusive dirty talk that seems to be trying to goad Bellamy to be more than merely rough with him. Or the way he always kicks Bellamy out immediately, the way he rebuffs any and all approaches that don't start with aggression.

Mostly, in the end, it's the way he always turns the lights out, and how the mirror in his room is covered. Bellamy knows what that means, knows that insecurity that refuses to see pleasure without pain, or to see one's own self in any sort of positive light. It's not a surprise, after everything Murphy has been through, but it saddens Bellamy, still. 

Guilt gnaws at him, for having fed into Murphy's cycle of self-doubt, however unintentionally he had done so. It sets him on edge, so the next time everyone’s fighting to avoid being the one to bring Murphy his food, Bellamy steps up. He grabs the dish in silence, and everyone laughs at Murphy’s expense, figuring Bellamy’s going to lecture him again. Well, he might end up lecturing him, but that’s not the plan.

The halls that Murphy has claimed as his own are silent, but Bellamy knows that might not mean anything. Murphy’s gotten very, very good at moving silently, slipping through the halls and stalking them when they come to feed him. He’s halfway to being some wild creature, but he was never far from that in the first place. Always a bit unrestrained, an agent of chaos. It was what had drawn Bellamy to him in this first days on the ground, and now he knows he did a major disservice by feeding into that destructive violence. 

Up here, the only thing Murphy can destroy is himself.

Bellamy makes it to Murphy’s actual room without any issue other than the feeling of eyes on his neck the whole time. He grumbles and shrugs his shoulders, barging into the room without announcing himself. If Murphy is in there, which Bellamy highly suspects he isn’t, he’ll have heard him approaching.

The room is dark, unkempt, and most importantly, empty. No angry creature springs at him, so Bellamy steps in, setting the food aside. He needs to talk to Murphy, and he’s more than okay to wait here until Murphy stops playing cat and mouse with him. Crossing his arms over his chest, Bellamy walks to stand in front of the mirror.

There’s still the blanket slung haphazardly over it, almost as if by accident. But it’s always there, always hiding the reflection. Bellamy frowns deeply and grabs the fabric to whisk it away, stopping at the sound of a bowl clattering to the ground behind him. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know what that means.

“You know that’s all you get for the day, Murphy,” Bellamy scolds, voice more tired than angry.

“You know I don’t care.” Murphy’s words carry far more heat than they need to, all the fury that Bellamy gave up on long ago. “Why are you here, Bellamy?”

Bellamy releases the blanket, turning with a sigh. Murphy’s leaning it the doorway, fists balled up, ready for a fight that he’ll make sure he gets even though he always, always loses. At his feet, the slick shine of algae soup. Bellamy would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about just dumping the stuff more than once, but he knows better. They barely get enough to stay healthy, and doing the mental math on the number of days Murphy spills his ration only adds to Bellamy concern.

“I want to talk,” Bellamy opens with, and he gets no further than that. With a snort of derision, Murphy pushes off the doorframe, stalking towards him.

“You want to talk?” Murphy says the words as if they’re the most ridiculous thing on the planet, sneering. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“No, Murphy, you’re not,” Bellamy insists, and Murphy shakes his head, moving to turn away and slip back into his hallways. Bellamy stops him, as he never has before. It’s always been easier just to let Murphy be Murphy; let him walk away, let him ignore you, let him starve himself. So much simpler than the fights, and actually sorting things out.

Murphy reacts to the touch as if Bellamy’s hand on his shoulder were a shock baton. He smacks Bellamy hand away and throws a punch that Bellamy narrowly blocks. Of course, Murphy would take any excuse for a brawl. Bellamy struggles with him, but only for a few moments. In the end, Murphy is half starved, half crazy, and Bellamy’s spent the entire six years training with the rest of the crew.

Bellamy gets Murphy spun around in his grasp, back to chest, heaving breaths as Murphy still tries desperately to struggle free. His movements have an effect on Bellamy that he didn’t intend, his body so used to these little wrestling matches ending up in a very particular, fun way. Murphy picks up on that, because of course he does, and laughs humorlessly, grinding his hips against Bellamy’s growing hardness.

“Oh, now I see why you’re here. What’s wrong, can’t get it up for your little ice bunny?” Murphy teases with a cruel edge to his voice that Bellamy is intimately familiar.

“No, Echo and I are fine. You know we’re not exclusive,” Bellamy explains again as if that’s the important thing to sort out. He tries his best to shift his hips away from Murphy while still holding onto him. “Besides, that’s not what I came here for.”

“Really?” Murphy asks, rubbing his ass against Bellamy’s hips like a cat in heat. Bellamy chokes down a groan; he can’t deny it feels good, and by this point Murphy knows exactly how to get Bellamy going. “Because it sort of seems like it is.”

“It isn’t. Jesus, Murphy, cut it out.” Bellamy grits out the words, releasing Murphy and taking a step back before he becomes fully distracted. Murphy turns on him in a heartbeat, rage glinting in his eyes.

“What the hell, Bellamy? You don’t want to fight, you don’t want to fuck. Why are you here?” Murphy hisses his original question, and Bellamy sees the aggression for what it is. After all, if anyone knows about pushing people away so they don’t look too close, it’s the big brother of the girl under the floor.

“I want to talk. I’m worried about you, Murphy,” Bellamy admits.

“Save it for someone who cares.” Simple as that, Murphy rejects his sentiment. Normally Bellamy would give in just that easily, leaving him to his self pity, but not this time. Bellamy moves closer until Murphy coils as if to spring at him again, sneering, “If you’re not her for anything fun, just get out?”

“Won’t you even listen to me?” Bellamy practically begs.

“No.” Comes the hard answer, and anger flares deep in the pit of Bellamy’s gut. Not wholly at Murphy, although some of it is. But at everything that led to this point, every system that let Murphy down, even at himself. Bellamy shakes his head shortly, staring down the wild boy in front of him.

“Fine, then. If you won’t listen, I’ll show you,” Bellamy vows before crowding forward.

He captures Murphy’s lips in a crushing kiss that Murphy presses up into, greedy, challenging for dominance as if this ever goes any other way. Bellamy grabs his hair to hold him back, setting the pace himself. He takes his time with it, no teeth, just the leisurely shift of lips and tongues. As Murphy desperately tries to urge him into a more violent engagement, Bellamy is struck with the amusing mental image of trying to french kiss a venus fly trap.

Eventually, Murphy calms under his touch, and Bellamy unwinds his hand from his hair. As soon as he relaxes his grip on Murphy, Murphy breaks away, turning to present his back to Bellamy. The way it always goes, and Bellamy wonders if it’s worth it to turn Murphy back towards him, to struggle with him the whole time. He’s going to be putting a lot of energy into this, trying to convince Murphy he can have pleasure without pain, and he knows he’s going to have to pick his battles. 

Bellamy’s eyes catch on the shape of the covered mirror as he grips Murphy’s hips, grinding forward in a slow, hard drag that makes Murphy moan. An idea tickles his mind, and Bellamy smiles to himself. Yes, that will do just fine.

Bellamy works them over towards the mirror, his hands keeping Murphy suitably distracted. He slides them up under Murphy’s shirt, over the flat plane of his stomach, the gentle ridges of his ribs that confirm Bellamy’s fears about his nutrition. Murphy arches into the touch, his hands clawing at Bellamy, urging him to do more. 

With a kiss to the top of Murphy’s shoulder, Bellamy slides his shirt off of him, throwing it into the general mess of Murphy’s room. Bellamy’s own quickly follows suit, and he crushes Murphy to his chest, delighting in the feeling of skin on skin. Murphy moans, grinding their hips together, his hand sneaking behind to clumsily grab at Bellamy’s ass. Bellamy’s cock throbs, trapped within the confines of his pants, and he grunts in displeasure at the too heavy sensation of confinement.

He sheds them with haste, freeing his erection with a heavy sigh, only struggling slightly before managing to wrench off his boots. At the sound of his actions, Murphy echoes them, his pants being cast aside, leaving them both fully nude. With any other partner, Bellamy would take his time indulging in the sight of them, memorizing every inch of their body. He loves the beauty of the world, inherent and varied in every person.

But Murphy has no such patience, molding himself to Bellamy’s front once more in irresistible fashion. Bellamy grinds against the bare heat of him, dry friction only serving to fuel his passions. Murphy mutters in frustration, reaching back towards Bellamy’s cock, doubtless to guide it into himself with reckless abandon, as he almost always does.

Bellamy swats away his hand and somewhat awkwardly navigates getting them seated on the floor, on top on some discarded clothes. He positions Murphy on his upper thighs, just in front of his erection, which rests heavily against Murphy’s spine. Murphy whines, wriggling backwards until Bellamy is forced to hold him in place by force. 

Bellamy licks the palm of his hand which is not currently occupied holding off Murphy’s eager advances, coating it in his saliva to transfer the truly awful lubricant to his cock. He strokes himself a few times, groaning at the sensation, even though the purpose is solely to slick himself up.

“No fair,” Murphy grouses at Bellamy’s actions, so Bellamy takes pity on him. 

He lifts Murphy against his chest, letting him get decent footing before lowering him slowly onto his cock. Bellamy meets hot resistance at first, Murphy hissing in through his teeth, but it yields to his advances quickly enough. Although Bellamy knows Murphy would be more than happy to simply take him in one swift thrust, he doesn’t allow that. Carefully, deliberately, he eases into him, dragging out the motion as long as possible. He loses himself in the burning heat of Murphy’s insides, the tight grip around him. Murphy’s thighs meet Bellamy with a mutual groan, both of them momentarily shaken by the intensity.

As Murphy sits in Bellamy’s lap, adjusting to him for a moment, Bellamy takes advantage of the pause. He leans over, snagging the corner of the blanket that lays on the ground near them, uncovering the polished glass with one smooth movement. Murphy’s eyes open at Bellamy’s shifting, and he makes an awful, pained noise as his reflection stares back at him. Bellamy looks just in time to see Murphy’s eyes slam closed once more, head turned away from his own visage.

He doesn’t understand it. Bellamy rakes his eyes over the reflection of them and sees nothing to be so afraid of. They look pretty damn good, actually, Murphy spread around him, pretty cock curving up towards his stomach. Bellamy makes a low noise of approval and reaches up, catching Murphy’s jaw to turn his face back towards the mirror.

“Look,” he instructs. Murphy merely screws his mouth into a thin line and Bellamy’s patience erodes a little. “Damnit, Murphy, just look at yourself.”

“Why?” Murphy hisses, eyes still screwed shut.

“Because you look incredible. Because- ‘cause you’re not the bad guy, Murphy. None of us are, and you don’t have to make yourself into that. Come on, just open your eyes,” Bellamy coaxes, holding Murphy firmly in place in his lap, determined not give an an inch until he acquiesces to his demands.

With an annoyed groan, Murphy opens his eyes slowly, glaring at Bellamy in the reflection. Bellamy simply smiles, shifting and grinding into Murphy. Murphy lets out a long moan, cock twitching, so Bellamy repeats the action.

It’s a somewhat awkward position, not allowing for much thrusting, but the view more than makes up for it. Any time Bellamy bodily hefts Murphy, the smaller man leaning back against him to aid in the motion, he can watch every inch of himself appear and disappear. He drinks in the sight of the flush spreading over Murphy’s chest, and the twitches and tremors in his muscles whenever Bellamy does something particularly good.

Murphy meanwhile, barely looks at the mirror. Bellamy catches his eyes in it a time or two, however, and each time Murphy turns an even more brilliant shade of red. It’s clear he doesn’t like looking at himself, so Bellamy sets out to show him exactly how good he really is. He skims his teeth over the back of Murphy’s shoulder, not biting, simply teasing the skin there.

He grinds their hips together, building a slow pleasure borne of friction and heat rather than deep, powerful thrusts. It’s a more intimate kind of pleasure, and Bellamy luxuriates in it. He runs his hand up Murphy’s ribs, which he can see a little too clearly even in the dusk of the room. He toys with Murphy’s nipples lightly, pinching them to draw little gasps and grunts, coupled with flinches that Bellamy can feel at the join of them.

It takes time, like this, coaxing a slow tinder fire between them, rather than their usual quick lived inferno. Murphy squirms under Bellamy’s attention, but he never tells him to stop. Much as he may put up a front, Bellamy figures he needs this. Something in the way he presses into Bellamy’s hands and whines with open need tells him the truth of this.

Although Murphy avoids looking at the mirror for the most part, he doesn’t close his eyes again, except for in brief little flutters. Bellamy notes this, as he notes everything he can see in the reflection. Murphy truly does look incredible, spread out on display like this, taking Bellamy deep within him. His lean body is so pale, such a contrast to Bellamy’s musculature and well nourished glow. Bellamy groans in satisfaction at the picture they paint, eyes tracking the movement of his own hand down Murphy’s abdomen.

He wraps his hand around Murphy’s cock, smaller than Bellamy’s own but still sizeable, delight in the way Murphy half bucks his hips into the touch. He pulls Murphy back into his lap, his grinding and half thrusts growing in urgency. Murphy whimpers as Bellamy drags his hand over the length of him, pumping him slowly. Bellamy releases him after a few dry passes, raising his hand to his own mouth to bestow it with another wet lick.

Slightly lubricated, Bellamy returns to jerking Murphy off; slowly, just shy of teasing. He watches the way the skin around the head of Murphy’s cock shifts, plays his fingers along the prominent veins around the shaft. Bellamy feels near drunk on it, being able to watch himself fucking Murphy as he toys with him. It makes him feel powerful, accomplished, especially when he notices Murphy watching Bellamy’s hand on him, breath falling past softly parted lips.

The sight urges Bellamy onwards, and he feels his orgasm building swiftly. He grits his teeth against it, refocusing his efforts on Murphy. He wants Murphy to see how good he is, how well he responds to Bellamy’s touch, how pretty he is when he comes. He’s certain it’s close, with the noises Murphy makes becoming even louder and more insistent, punctuated by curses.

“You’re not worthless, Murphy. You understand that, right?” Bellamy rumbles. Murphy simply hangs his head, hiding from the sight of them, from Bellamy’s words. 

“Please, I’m gonna-” Murphy begins, breathing heavy, a telltale tension setting in where Bellamy can feel him most intimately.

“Not until you say it,” Bellamy growls, fingers forming a tight circle around the base of Murphy’s cock, denying him his climax. Murphy whimpers, trembling as Bellamy holds him still with his other hand on his hip. “Say you’re not worthless.”

“I’m- I’m- Bellamy, please,” Murphy stutters and begs, but Bellamy holds firm, staving off Murphy’s orgasm and his own.

“Say. It.” Bellamy’s words leave no room for argument. He presses a kiss to the slope between Murphy’s shoulder and neck, gentle encouragement. Bellamy will make him feel good, so good, if only he would just admit such a basic truth.

“‘ _Mnotworthless._ ” Murphy mumbles, barely audible, and Bellamy shifts his hips slightly.

“Louder,” he demands. 

“I’m not- I’m not worthless.” The words sound pained, dragged out of Murphy by force, but it’s important to Bellamy that he says it, that he knows it.

Bellamy nods his approval, releasing Murphy’s cock and giving it a few quick jerks. It only takes the space of a few fevered heartbeats before Murphy is spilling himself over Bellamy’s clenched fist, tightening like a vice around Bellamy’s length. Bellamy groans, deep in his chest, as Murphy finishes, gasping like a fish out of water.

It takes all of Bellamy’s restraint to wait for Murphy to relax slightly, then he releases him in order to lift Murphy up. Bellamy fucks up into him, desperately sprinting after his own end. It isn’t far away, and before Murphy can begin to complain, Bellamy climaxes deep within the heat of him with a breath like he’s been punched in the gut.

When Bellamy eases his softening cock from Murphy’s ass, mess quickly following, he expects Murphy to eject him from the room as he always does. He doesn’t, however, instead sitting there between Bellamy’s thighs, trembling lightly. Bellamy throws caution to the wind, reaching out and placing his hand on the too prominent ridge of Murphy’s spine. When Murphy doesn’t reject that touch, Bellamy pulls him to his chest, holding him securely.

“Sorry for spilling the food,” the words are a ghost on Murphy’s lips, but there nonetheless. Bellamy doesn’t know what brought it on, but he presses a kiss to Murphy’s hair.

“It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

Bellamy truly, desperately, hopes it will be.

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank my beta Etra enough for editing these all, she's incredible especially given I wrote like five stories in two days to try and prep for this month. Please keep her in your prayers, given what trash I send her lol
> 
> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)


End file.
